


sexual experimentation with foreign monarchs: a gray area

by KittyKathryn



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, aaron is the king, aka the first son of the us, aka the prince of england, all their abusers are dead i'm not about that life, and neil is alex, basically a red white and royal blue au, like a fake friendship instead of fake dating lol, neil is in love with andrew but has no idea, where andrew is henry, wymack is the president
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyKathryn/pseuds/KittyKathryn
Summary: Neil Wymack, adopted son of the President of the United States, is used to being in the spotlight. Andrew Minyard, Prince of England and brother to the King, has also grown up with the eye of the public on him since birth. So, you'd think they'd be at least somewhat capable of avoiding stirring up international drama in the sight of every camera at King Aaron's wedding. However, both seem to have a weakness when in the presence of the other. After tipping over a cake worth $75,000, Andrew and Neil are forced to reconcile their feelings of mutual hatred in order to convince the public they've actually been best friends this entire time. Angst, fluff, and havoc ensues.---aka a red white and royal blue au
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 40
Kudos: 184





	1. the royal wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so here’s the situation. Lineage-wise, Tilda used to be the Queen of England. She and Luther are both dead, so the crown passed down to Aaron. (I know that Andrew is technically older but I just want Andrew to be the prince okay) Because Luther was a prince, Nicky is also a prince, even though he’s not the child of the Tilda. (I had to do a bunch of research with how titles work in the British crown because I’m a dumb American okay so bear with me) So Andrew and Nicky are princes, and Aaron is the King of England.   
> Now for the situation in America. Wymack is the President, and Abby is the first lady. Kevin is Wymack’s son biologically, as in the books. Basically Neil sorta has the same backstory but both his parents died when he was little so he was put up for adoption. Wymack’s a bleeding heart, as usual, and adopted Neil when he was young. So, Kevin and Neil are brothers in this universe, just not biologically.   
> For anyone who’s read Red White and Royal Blue, here’s the correlation of the characters:  
> Neil: Alex  
> Andrew: Henry  
> Renee: Pez  
> Allison: Nora   
> Kevin: June  
> Aaron: a mixture of the Queen of England and Prince Philip but nicer   
> Nicky: basically Bea  
> Dan: Zahra  
> Matt: Sorta a hybrid of Shaan/Cash/Amy

Few things are certain in life, but here are a couple: David Wymack was the President of the United States of America, Neil was his adopted son, and Neil Wymack hated Prince Andrew of England. He was, like usual, talking about it. 

Neil slammed the magazine on the table, Kevin raising an unimpressed eyebrow over his bowl of cereal. “Can you get a load of this shit?” Neil demanded. “‘Prince Andrew says his favorite book is Great Expectations,’” he reads. “Who does he think he is?”

Kevin, ever suffering, sighs. “The Prince of England?”

Neil pushed on. “That’s such a bullshit answer. Whose favorite author is Charles Dickens?”

Dan walks into the dining room, rolling her eyes as she hears what Neil’s on about. “Neil, get over it. You’ll be good at the royal wedding this weekend, right?”

“That’s this weekend?” Neil groans. 

“Yes, and you will behave! We cannot have a national emergency at our hands just because you decide to declare war against the British monarchy.” 

“Just ignore him,” Kevin chimes in. 

“How can I ignore him? He’s my rival! We have to do rival things.” 

Dan pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Just promise not to do anything that will land you on national news, okay?” 

“I suppose,” Neil grumbles. “Now, let’s read the rest of this magazine. I’m pretty sure they talk about me somewhere in here.” 

And, sure enough, “First Son Caught in Tantalizing Love Affair,” is emblazoned on the next page. Neil cackles as Dan snatches the paper away. “Really, Neil? Who the fuck is it? Did you get her to sign an NDA?” 

“Dan, seriously, don’t worry. Me and Allison were just joking around,” he tries to explain as he recalls the previous weekend. Sure, he had dated Allison at the beginning of the campaign trail. She was the VP’s daughter and they were forced to spend every waking moment together. He was curious and she was a wildfire; the spark between them, however, quickly died out as she realized he was boring and he realized he might not swing. So, instead of anything actually steamy, he and Allison had been watching the West Wing and made the occasional loud moaning sound at the wall to fool the tabloids. 

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me,” Dan groans, and Kevin rolls his eyes. 

\---

It’s the next weekend, and, sure enough, Neil’s on his way to the royal wedding. Their car makes its way through streets crowded with adoring British citizens. Neil can’t help thinking about how there won’t be this kind of turnout in front of the White House if he or Kevin get married one day, and thank god for that.  
The ceremony is boring and long, and Prince Aaron and his new wife Katelyn are perfectly in love with each other. Neil’s never been much for romance, but even   
he can admit the wedding is kind of nice, he supposes. 

Finally, Neil, Allison, and Kevin are settled at a table inside Buckingham Palace’s ballroom. He’s tense after a day of catching glances of Prince Andrew, and when Allison nudges a flute of champagne his way, he doesn’t hesitate to take it. He may not be much of a drinker, but he makes exceptions when it comes to his loathing for a certain Prince of England. 

Allison’s eyeing every man who walks by, a perpetual smile on her bright red lips. “There’s so many well-endowed gentlemen here, if you catch my drift.” 

“Please tell me you’re talking about their wealth,” Kevin groans. 

She grins, sending a wink at Neil. “If that helps you sleep at night, sure.” 

Neil’s about to retort when some royal attendant approaches their table. The gray man, probably named something like Reginald or Bartholomew, says, “Miss Reynolds, His Royal Highness Prince Andrew requests the honor of you accompanying him for a dance.”

Allison’s perfectly colored lips freeze in an o shape, and Kevin looks like this is the most interesting thing to happen all night. Which, honestly, it is. “Oh, I bet Allison would love to! She’s been hoping all night he’d ask!” Kevin exclaims, clearly seeing this as the perfect diplomatic moment, and Allison doesn’t necessarily seem like she disagrees. Neil, however, has never felt so betrayed in his entire life. 

“Allison,” he hisses. 

She flicks her eyes between Reginal-Bartholomew and Neil, and he can see the moment her curiosity gets the best of her. She breaks out in a shit-eating grin. “Well, that just sounds lovely.”

And then, there he fucking is, the bane of Neil’s fucking existence. He’s as classically handsome as ever, blond hair tousled, cheekbones defined, and suit perfectly tailored. The only outlier is his apathetic expression. Prince Andrew: the gorgeous royal whose face revealed none of what he felt. It was no wonder people were so drawn to the mystery of him. Being so close to him, Neil couldn’t help but wonder what Andrew was hiding behind those hazel eyes. 

Speaking of, those hazel eyes lock with Neil’s, and something like annoyance or adrenaline spikes in his chest. He hadn’t spoken to Andrew in over a year, and he wasn’t used to being around him. 

Andrew gives him a nod, and Neil bites down on his fury. He looks to Allison instead, greets her, and extends a hand to her. “Do you know how to waltz?” he asks, a single eyebrow quirking, the only sign of what he’s thinking. 

“Absolutely. You’re not the only one who grew up with rich parents.” Allison stands, ready for the spotlight to be on her. 

“What the fuck,” Neil hisses to Kevin. “So this is what’s happening now? He’s shutting me up by wooing my best friend?” 

Kevin takes a sip from the champagne he’s been downing at an alarming speed. “It’s hilarious that you think everything is about you.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“That’s the spirit,” Kevin sighs, ever suffering. 

Neil turns to the crowd, his eyes catching on Andrew swirling Allison. She’s stunning, and she knows it. Andrew keeps looking around, his attention, somehow, not caught by her. Neil is seething. 

Neil’s had enough, he’s decided, and it’s going to be a rare occasion where he gets systematically drunk. Neil doesn’t like being under the influence, and he’s reminded of why. He can’t help but reminisce on all the terrible experiences of his childhood. There was the situation with his parents and the subsequent foster care, but he likes to save that for when he’s particularly self-loathing. 

Instead, he thinks of Andrew. You see, he found a magazine once in the bedroom of one of his foster sisters, back when he lacked a loving family. It was some silly teen magazine aimed at girls with self esteem issues, and dead in the middle was a poster of one Prince Andrew. He wasn’t like the other boys in the magazine. He looked in Andrew’s hazel eyes, and he felt seen, as if Andrew knew what he’d been through and didn’t pity him. He understood him. 

So when Neil got adopted by a man climbing the political ranks, there were very real opportunities for him to meet the prince who kept him company when he was alone. And then he met Andrew at the Olympics, and those eyes that previously seemed understanding were instead cool and detached. He had approached Andrew, hoping to gain a friend. Instead, Andrew took one look at him, turned to his security, and requested for Neil to get away from him. This gorgeous, contemplative prince that the media portrayed was far less charming in real life. 

Okay. So Neil’s drunk. He spent most of the night awkwardly stumbling around, allowing the occasional heiress to tempt him into a dance. But suddenly he catches sight of a lone figure hovering near the cake- a cake which just so happens to cost more than his college tuition. Prince Andrew is watching his twin and his bride dancing away, but he watches with disinterest, like he doesn’t quite like what he sees. 

Neil heads over like a man with a single mission, downing a glass of wine on the way for confidence. “Hey, bigshot,” Neil says as he sidles up to the prince. “When you have one of these, you should do two champagne fountains instead of one. Sorta embarrassing to be at a wedding with only one champagne fountain.”

“Neil,” Andrew says in an infuriatingly even tone. “How are you on this lovely night?” 

And god damn if his accent isn’t posh and seductive. “Oh, so much better now that I have the pleasure of speaking to you,” Neil sarcastically drawls. 

“The feeling is mutual.” 

Fuck Andrew for sounding oh so genuine and acting as if he doesn’t hate Neil just as much. He never smiles, but he’s never antagonistic. It makes Neil want to scream. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of pretending you’re above this?” Neil slurs. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Uh huh. Sure. You’re over here acting like you’re too important to be here- too important to be anywhere, honestly!” 

Andrew cocks his head. “You’re drunk.” 

“M’not.” 

Andrew breaths out what could possibly be considered a laugh. “Perhaps you should switch to water, Neil.”

Neil’s name on Andrew’s tongue makes him want to punch him in the face.

“I’m having fun, unlike you.” 

“Are you truly, though? It seems like you’re letting your apparent obsession get in the way of experiencing any joy tonight.”

Neil sputters. “What are you-”

“Just a thought, but have you ever noticed that I never am the one to approach you, and each time I am exhaustively civil? Yet, here you are, seeking me out again. Just an observation,” he says, taking a sip of champagne. “Have a lovely evening, Neil.”

Neil’s never been spoken to in such a way, and he’s not just gonna let Andrew walk away from this with the last word. Without thinking, he reaches out and grabs Andrew’s shoulder. 

Andrew turns in the blink of an eye, fury in his usually blank eyes, shoving Neil away from him. “Don’t you fucking dare touch me,” he bites out. 

Neil’s too drunk and his balance is too shot, and the next thing he knows, he’s stumbling backward into the table. He grabs for Andrew’s sleeve to steady himself, but instead it pulls Andrew down with him. The two crash into the cake stand, and they land on the floor, watching in horror as the horrifically expensive cake comes tumbling down. 

The room is silent, except for Andrew’s furious breathing. “I told you not to fucking touch me.” 

“Shit,” Neil breaths, thinking about the shit he’s going to get from Wymack, but at the back of his mind, he can’t help but celebrate at the fact that he got Andrew to break his mask of apparent self control. 

All he had to do was send him tumbling into a $75,000 wedding cake. 

Fuck.


	2. hottest world leaders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil learns the consequences of his actions and plays some trivia with Allison and Kevin on a certain royal.

Dan slams a stack of magazines on the table of the West Wing briefing room. “What the fuck do you not understand about not landing on the national news, Neil?” 

Kevin picks up a few magazines, reading the titles to Neil while pinching the bridge of his nose. “The $75,000 stumble, battle royal: Prince Andrew and FSOTUS come to blows at royal wedding, cakegate: Neil Wymack sparks second English-American War.” 

“Okay, that’s just factually incorrect,” Neil speaks up. “It would be the third English-American War! No one ever remembers the War of 1812!” 

Both Dan and the president, David Wymack, are glaring at Neil. 

Kevin, meanwhile, keeps reading aloud. “‘Sources say the two were arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe, but insiders have told us that this feud has existed ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics. Nowadays, they can hardly even be in the same room as each other. A violent altercation such as this was bound to happen, our sources say.” 

Neil sputters, “Violent? I really don’t think-” 

“Neil,” Wymack says. “Please just shut up for once.” Neil can see the family resemblance in him and Kevin when they hold their faces in their hands. 

“One wonders what this relationship between two powerful sons means for President Wymack and King Aaron. Many have called the relationship between monarchy and POTUS icy and distant in recent years. It’s unlikely this incident will do anything to help,” Kevin finishes. 

“What the hell do you have to say for yourself, Neil?” Wymack finally asks. 

“He started it. He’s a drama queen and I barely touched him and then he pushed me and-” 

Wymack holds a hand up to stop him. “As your father, I can perhaps appreciate that this may not be your fault, but as president, I’m barely holding myself back from ordering the CIA to fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.” 

Neil recognizes when he should shut his mouth- not often, but it’s quite clear at the moment. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do, son.” He pulls out some rather official looking documents. “You will make nice with Andrew. You’ll leave Saturday and spend Sunday in England, chumming it up with the prince.”

“Actually,” Neil finally finds his voice. “I think I’d prefer the whole faking-my-death thing.” 

Neil gets resolutely ignored. “Dan will brief you on the rest, because I have very presidential duties to take care of.” As he walks out the door, he rests his hand on Neil’s head in a fatherly motion. “You’re an idiot. Love you.” 

Dan takes his spot, and Neil prepares to get utterly destroyed. As the president’s right hand woman, Dan’s a badass and absolutely knows it. 

“Alright, shithead, let’s get this over with. First, the White House and monarchy will release a joint statement claiming that the whole incident at the royal wedding was a complete misunderstanding and accident.” 

“Which it was.” 

Dan pauses only for a moment to send Neil a withering glare. “And, despite that you two rarely have the free time to see each other, you and Andrew have been close personal friends for the past few years.” 

Neil sputters some sort of reply, and Dan sighs. 

“Listen, kid, this is a shitty situation. I know. But you can put on your big boy pants and pretend to be utterly in love with your best friend, Prince Andrew, and, when not in public, you can write mean poems about him in your diary. Got it?” Kevin giggles, and Neil pretends he’s an only child.

“Sorry, ‘in love with my best friend’? Are you kidding me? Have you met him? He has the personality of a cabbage.” 

“Clearly you don’t understand that I don’t give two shits about how you feel about this. We’re doing this so we don’t completely destroy your father’s chances at reelection. Do you want the main focus of his campaign to be, ‘I promise I’m smarter than my son’? No? Then you’re going to get over yourself and do this.” 

She slides over a data-covered piece of paper that says: HRH Prince Andrew Fact Sheet. Neil’s going to have a fucking anuerysm. 

“You’re going to memorize this, and if anyone asks about Andrew, you’re going to gush like he’s your fucking high school prom date.” 

Under hobbies, it lists polo and competitive yachting. Neil is going to set himself on fire.

\---

“Quick, rapid-fire quiz time!” Allison shouts. “Cats’ names?” 

Neil’s legs are on his bed, his arms and head hanging off. “King Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. Named by his cousin, Prince Nicholas Hemmick. Who, let me just say, was literally over twenty years old when he named them. Not, as you would expect, a five year old. What even is their family?”

“Hey, don’t badmouth Nicky. He’s a riot,” Allison claims.

Kevin chimes in. “Best friend’s name, age, and occupation?” 

“Best friend other than you, clearly,” Allison adds with a wink.

Neil rolls his eyes. “Renee Walker. Heir to her mother’s company, Walker Industries. Twenty-two, lives in London and manages the Walker Foundation, a humanitarian nonprofit.” 

“Favorite book?” 

Neil’s silent for too long, until finally Kevin says with some distaste, “Great Expectations.” 

“What the fuck?” Neil says. “Whose favorite book is Great Expectations? See? He has the personality of a rock.” 

Allison giggles. “An attractive rock, though.” 

Neil groans. 

“He’s definitely in the top five hottest royals slash politicians or children of politicians. Have you seen those eyes?” 

“That’s a bit generous, don’t you think?” Neil says. 

Allison’s ready for a challenge. “Name five people hotter than Prince Andrew.” 

“Jeremy Knox, son of the German Chancellor,” Kevin says without a pause. 

“Jean Moreau, son of the French Prime Minister,” Neil adds. 

Allison looks contemplative. “Do you think they’re fucking?” 

“One hundred percent,” Neil says at the same time that Kevin says, “What? No!” 

“Kevin, buddy. If you want Jeremy Knox to notice you, you have to actually speak to him.” 

Kevin flushes furiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“We’re ignoring the most obvious ones: us,” Neil says, attempting to take the focus away from Kevin. 

Allison hums in agreement. “Queen Katelyn’s pretty hot too, I suppose. And Nicky. And oh my god, Nicky’s soon-to-be husband, Erik, is a fucking hottie.” 

“You think that wedding is actually gonna happen?” Neil asks. 

She shrugs. “Depends if Aaron wants to be a homophobic asshole like his mother or not.” 

“Hey, that’s way more than five people hotter than Andrew!” Neil exclaims. 

“I don’t know if they’re all more attractive than him, honestly. It’s pretty close. Jeremy’s number one, obviously, but I’m not sure about the rest.” 

Neil groans. “Fine. Okay. I give up. He’s cute, I guess. But he’d be cuter if he actually showed emotion.” 

“I don’t know,” Allison says. “That whole dark and moody thing he’s got going on can be a turn on.”  
Neil and Kevin wrinkle their noses. “Ew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments on the last chapter! I've had this idea in my head for months now, honestly. I only now got the time to write it, and I'm hoping to update every day or so. Not sure how long this'll be, but probably around 15,000 to 20,000 words. Thanks for reading and feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments!


	3. a weekend with the prince of England

When Neil steps off the plane in England, he’s greeted by Andrew’s head of security, a tall black man who looked far too friendly for someone who could easily kill a man. “Nice to see you, Mr. Wymack! My name’s Matt Boyd. Hope the flight went smoothly.”

Dan answers for him. “You can call him Neil. Our flight went about as well as a transatlantic flight normally does.” 

Matt cocks his head. “And you are?”

“Dan Wilds, at your service.” 

The two shake hands, and Neil narrows his eyes. He’s not sure he likes this development. 

They’re led to a car, and Matt gets in the driver’s seat while Dan informs him of what’s to come. “Tonight you’ll stay in Kensington Palace. Tomorrow it’s the ‘This Morning’ interview at nine. There will be a photo there. Then it’s to children’s hospitals all afternoon and after that you’re home free.”

Neil sighs in acceptance of spending the next two days with a certain unbearable royal. 

Matt drives them to a fucking stable. Of course he does. They’re meeting the prince there, and there’ll be a photoshoot. Neil just needs to hold it together. He signs an NDA, and then he’s led to his doom. 

Andrew comes galloping in on a white horse like the prince he is. He looks dramatic and like a knight come to steal Neil away in the middle of the night. His clothing is perfectly pressed and styled, and he shakes out his hair when he takes off his helmet. 

Once Andrew’s in earshot, Neil says, “Just fucking kill me already.”

“Hello, Neil. Nice to see you sober.” He can finally hear a bit of iciness in Andrew’s tone, Neil notices with a bit of glee.

He dismounts his horse with more grace than Neil would expect from a man only five feet tall. But hey, who’s he to talk. 

They shake hands, and Neil smiles for the camera on the other side of the fence. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“I’d rather be waterboarded,” Andrew says with his usual amount of apathy. “Your country could probably arrange that.”

Neil laughs exaggeratedly. “Go fuck yourself.” 

“Hardly enough time,” Andrew responds. 

Once Matt says they can head out, Andrew turns away from Neil wordlessly. He’s hardly surprised. Andrew’s never been the most verbose royal. That would go to Nicky. Neil has only spoken to him a few times, but it’s like he knows his entire life story at this point. It’s hard to believe he’s related to the short, pale, blond man walking away from Neil. But he can hardly say anything. He knows what it’s like to look nothing like the rest of your family. 

\---

Neil doesn’t like Kensington Palace. It’s too put together, too much like a museum to feel like an actual home that someone lives in. He can’t imagine how Andrew even sleeps in this place. Speaking of, Neil can’t sleep. The jet lag and the environment were proving to be difficult to overcome as he lay awake staring up at the high ceiling. 

Instead, he found his way over to the kitchen attached to his guest wing. Oh, did he mention he had an entire wing to himself? It was absurd. Most apartments weren’t as big as the entire guest wing. What, Neil wondered, was it like to be so blissfully unaware of poverty?

He’s sitting at the kitchen counter laughing at a text Allison sent him when he hears quiet footsteps down the hall. Andrew and Prince Nicky live in a different part of the palace, but his security sleeps here, so maybe it’s-

The light turns on as a very sleep rumpled Prince Andrew comes stumbling into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He’s wearing joggers and a snug black t shirt. His arms are bare; his arms are never bare in public. Even on a tropical vacation, he’s only ever photographed with a long sleeve. Not that Neil's spent much time looking at pictures of Andrew on a tropical vacation...

His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, and his feet are bare. He’s wearing glasses. That might just be the most shocking part of all. He looks exposed. Neil almost feels like he should avert his eyes. 

Andrew freezes when he spots Neil. They stare at each other for a moment. Andrew stands up straight, his face losing its sleepiness and going back to its usual guarded and blank expression. 

“Sorry to intrude,” he says, but his voice is still a bit scratchy. “I was just…” He gestures at the fridge. “Ice cream. I ran out. Knew they’d stocked you up.” He finally stars moving, going to the fridge and taking out a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. 

Neil finds his voice. “Didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth.” 

“It’s the only sweet thing about me,” Andrew says, sounding bored, like usual. Neil would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so opposed to finding Andrew funny. 

“I’m not sure about that. Princes are made with sugar and spice and everything nice, aren’t they?”

Andrew grumbles, “Maybe if you’re my cousin.” 

He’s not wrong. Prince Nicholas is like a ray of sunshine. 

Neil’s surprised when Andrew breaks the silence again. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?” 

“What is this, small talk?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “No need to be an asshole.”

Neil grins. “Oh, but that’s my natural status.” He hops off the counter. “And, to answer your question, no, I’m not nervous. Watch this.” He opens the camera on his phone, lining up to take a picture of the pint of ice cream on the counter, Andrew’s joggers in the background. “‘Nothing cures jet lag like midnight ice cream with @PrinceAndrew,’” he reads. “And, post. There are a lot of things worth overthinking, but this isn’t one of them.” He grins smugly as Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need my beauty rest.” 

Andrew snorts, and Neil starts to walk out. He pauses in the doorway, considering. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he says. He leaves Andrew in the kitchen, his eyes narrowed and his ice cream slowly melting.

\---

The ride to the tv studio is long and boring. Andrew’s beside him, surrounded by attendants and stylists. His hair is smoothed back by one with a comb, and Neil can’t help but remember what it looked like last night. Matt’s in the front seat, but he shakes a pill out of a bottle and passes it to Andrew, who obediently swallows it. Neil, although curious, decides it’s none of his business. 

They pull up in front of the studio, and it’s covered in screaming people, all hoping to catch a glimpse of their elusive prince. Andrew sends an expression that could almost be considered a grimace at Neil. Neil takes a deep breath, pulling out his wide smile that he thinks looks a bit too much like his biological father. But the public eats it up. So he ignores the pictures of him where it adorns his face. 

Andrew clears his throat and steps out, taking a moment to wave at the crowd until Neil steps out beside him. “Hug for the camera?” he whispers in Andrew’s ear, waiting for a nod until Neil throws an arm around his shoulders. “Act like you like me!” 

He sees Andrew’s jaw clench in his periphery, but he puts an arm around Neil as well. They’re the perfect picture of best friends. 

Backstage, they’re introduced to the hosts, an insufferable pair of middle-aged British people. They’re given one more look-over by stylists until Andrew is leading the way on stage, Neil close behind. 

They take a seat on the couch, and Neil wishes he was doing literally anything else. The stage lights are harsh, but Andrew looks ridiculously handsome, his jaw defined and his hazel eyes bright. Whatever. 

It takes him a second to comprehend the question being asked by one of the hosts, but Neil quickly falls into an easy conversation. He has a big mouth, but he also knows how to turn on the charm. After being asked what he thinks of England, Neil brings up that it’s always a joy to see Andrew. He turns to his “best friend,” extending his fist. Andrew looks like he wants to die, and Neil’s never been so happy. He gets a stiff fist bump in response, and the audience laughs raucously. This day is going better than expected. 

\---

Next is the cancer ward at the children’s hospital. 

Neil doesn’t know how he’s going to handle watching Andrew look at every child with zero interest and his monotonous voice, so he’s hardly excited. But he’ll focus on the children, not Andrew, since he’s legally required to be here. 

He wanders without Andrew, speaking to child after child and enjoying the look of joy in their eyes when they see him. The patient he’s with starts to doze off, and Neil hears the low rumble of Andrew’s voice on the other side of the curtain. 

There’s no photographers in the room, and Neil is curious. He peeks around the edge of the curtain, just able to spot Andrew with a little girl. 

Andrew is… smiling, Neil realizes. Not like most people. It’s barely there. Just an upward tilt at the side of his lips. But he actually looks… happy? 

They’re talking about Harry Potter, he notices after the shock of a smiling Prince Andrew fades. 

“What house are you?” the girl asks. 

“Well,” Andrew says quietly. “It’s a bit of a secret, but I trust you not to tell anyone.” The girl nods excitedly. “Everyone thinks I’m a Slytherin, but I’m actually a Hufflepuff.” 

“I knew it!” she whisper-yells. “I’m a Hufflepuff too!” 

“Really? That’s so exciting!”

Neil’s never heard Andrew sound like that. He genuinely sounds interested. 

A nurse comes over to the girl, interrupting the moment. “You two can go now, it’s time for her meds.” The girl whines, but Andrew bows and politely says farewell. When he turns, he’s back to usual Andrew, and he looks a little startled to see Neil. 

“I’m impressed. Well, surprised, I suppose,” Neil says. 

“At what?” 

Neil grins. “That you actually have, you know, feelings.” 

He can almost see that smile beginning to grow again when three things happen rapidly. 

There’s a shout at the other end of the hallway. 

A loud pop echoes through the hall that sounds an awful lot like gunfire. 

Matt grabs both Andrew and Neil and shoves them through the nearest door. 

“Stay down,” he says firmly before he slams the door closed. 

It’s pitch black and it seems like a storage closet, with a mop on the floor that Neil stumbles over. The two go down, with Neil hitting the floor facedown and Andrew landing directly on top of him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Andrew says, his voice muffled by Neil’s hair. 

“Get off me,” Neil huffs. 

Andrew complies surprisingly quickly, muttering, “Why does this always happen when you’re around?”

“How is this my fault?” Neil demands. 

“Will you shut up before you get us both killed?” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” 

He can practically feel that Andrew’s rolling his eyes. “You’re a fucking child.” 

Neil’s wedged between Andrew’s side and the door, and they’re practically spooning. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” 

“Yes, this is simply a dream, isn’t it?” Andrew snaps. “I’ve always wished to be locked in a cupboard with your elbow inside my rib cage.” 

He sounds like he wants to punch Neil, which is probably the most Neil has ever liked him, so he follows an impulse and drives his elbow into Andrew’s side. 

“I swear to God, Neil!” he shouts, far too loud considering the circumstances. Andrew yanks Neil sideways by the shirt and Andrew is half on top of him, pinning him to the floor. 

Neil grins. “That’s the spirit.” He wiggles below Andrew, trying to shake him off, but Andrew shoves him to the floor again with his hand fisted in Neil’s shirt. 

“Are you finished?” His voice comes out strangled. “You’re the most idiotic person I’ve ever met.” 

“Aw, Andrew, you say such sweet things to me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil.” He finally lets go of Neil, laying on the floor beside him. “I cannot believe even mortal peril doesn’t prevent you from being an absolute dumbass.” 

“It’s a part of my charm,” Neil says. 

Andrew snorts. “Is that what you call it?” 

It almost feels like they’re joking with each other. Neil supposes that being shoved in a closet so as to avoid gunfire is a pretty good way to bond. He surely learned that Andrew puts up a fight; but it honestly felt like Andrew was holding himself back. He wants to see what the prince looks like with zero restraints. 

“So, uh. Hufflepuff?” 

He again senses that Andrew’s rolling his eyes. “Yeah, shocker, I know.” 

“I don’t know. Honestly I’ve never considered it, but I’m not much of a Harry Potter guy, so that’s not surprising. Never had much of a childhood, I suppose. Ha. But. Um. I feel like you put up a tough face but you’re a real softie at heart.” Neil’s rambling. 

Andrew’s quiet for a moment. “Oh, really?” His voice sounds a little strained at the edges. 

“You’re still an asshole, though.” 

“Of course.” Andrew sighs. “Why, exactly, do you hate me so much? I’m curious. Like, it’s probably justified. I make a lot of people hate me. I’m just not sure of your particular reason.” 

“Do you really not remember being an absolute dick to me at the Olympics?” 

Andrew takes a moment. “I remember everything. Eidetic memory.”

Neil wasn’t aware of that fact. “So, Mr. Eidetic Memory, what do you remember?”

“You introduced yourself to me. I couldn’t believe you did. You shook my hand, and I asked Matt to get rid of you.” He says it without any change in inflection. 

“Exactly.” 

“I-” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t aware you could hear that.” 

Neil snorts. “I don’t think that’s the point, buddy. It was a dick move, whether I heard it or not.”

“I suppose.”

“Yeah, so.”

Andrew pauses. “That’s it?”

“I mean, that was only the start.”

“Oh?” Andrew actually sounds curious. 

Neil’s feeling particularly contemplative. “I don’t know. It’s just. This whole, always in the public eye thing is hard. Harder for me. I’m adopted. Had a shitty childhood and I’ll never really be seen as the first son. You had it all handed to you, didn’t even have to worry. You’re basically a reminder of everything I could’ve had but was yanked away from me by my shit-head of a father.”

Andrew’s quiet for a long while, until he murmurs. “Don’t make assumptions about other people’s trauma.” 

Neil didn’t really consider the possibility of a spoiled prince having many traumatic experiences in youth. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll admit I was a prick that day. But things weren’t as fantastic as they seemed for me for most of my life, and trauma makes you an asshole. You’re proof enough of that.” 

Neil can’t help the laugh that slips out at that. But he’s also reconsidering his perception of Andrew. What came of as aloofness perhaps was a wall forced up by too many heavy hands in the past. He understands what that feels like. 

“Guess we’re both fucked up,” he finally says. 

Andrew huffs a laugh. “You always amaze me with your articulation.” 

Neil’s about to retort when the door opens, Matt sticking his head in. “False alarm. Some kids brought fireworks for their friend.” He blinks down at their bodies prone on the floor. “I see you guys got cozy?”

“Yeah, truly a bonding moment,” Neil says, letting Matt yank him to his feet. Despite his joking tone, he supposes it was the truth. 

\---

They’re outside Kensington Palace, and Andrew has demanded to see Neil’s phone. After inputting his contact, he says, “If we’re going to successfully keep this up, it will be easier to just text.” 

Neil blinks, and a smile breaks out on his face. Andrew narrows his eyes in response. “Sounds great! No booty calls, though,” he says with a wink.

Andrew’s ears tint the slightest pink color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note about Andrew and Neil potentially seeming ooc. In this fic, I think they've had the support necessary to help somewhat heal from their mutual trauma, to the point where they're more able to talk about their experiences. While I'm keeping Andrew relatively stoic, I also want to portray him as an Andrew who has had the chance to heal, one with the confidence to show the soft side of himself to those he trusts. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Your comments mean the world to me! :))))


	4. who's hotter

If there’s anyone in the world that Neil considers more so to be his arch enemy than Prince Andrew, it’s Tetsuji Moriyama and his shithead nephew, Riko. Moriyama was running against Neil’s dad for President, and he sure as hell didn’t trust him. 

Neil may have been engaging in what he liked to call “hate scrolling.” The name “Riko Moriyama” was typed into the searchbar, and he was scrolling through related news headlines.

Riko Moriyama: The Goldenboy of Politics

Scandals and Cake-Tipping: Why Riko Moriyama Should Be FSOTUS

Who’s Hotter: Neil Wymack or Riko Moriyama?

Neil snorted and copied the link without a second thought. 

Neil: buzzfeed.com/whos-hotter

Neil: thoughts?

Andrew: I have important things to do, you know.

Andrew: But also Riko Moriyama can eat shit.

Neil: awww thanks for confirming I’m hot

Andrew: This is hearsay.

Neil: oh boo hoo

Andrew: Why did I ever give you my number?

Neil: bc we’re best friends who miss each other dearly

Neil stared at his phone for three minutes, and, after no response, decided that Andrew was ignoring him.

Neil: boo you whore

His door opened without a knock, and Kevin stuck his head in. 

“Knock!” Neil yelled.

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Dinner’s here.” 

Neil’s stomach overruled his temporary annoyance with Kevin, and he followed Kevin down the hall. Their dad was sitting at the dinner table with Kevin’s step-mom, Abby, looking for all the world like he could use a nap. He smiled when they walked in. 

Neil’s eyes lit up when he spotted the boxes of pizza on the table. “Oh, hell yeah.”

“Language,” Abby reminded.

Neil grinned. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

Wymack groaned. “Why are you like this.” 

“Because I live to torture you,” Neil said as he opened the pizza in front of him. Because of his picky eating habits, he got a pizza all for himself with not a single topping other than pineapple. He knew he was a disgrace. He just liked fruit. 

“Okay boys. Let’s hear it: one good thing, one bad thing,” Wymack said, digging into his own pizza. They’d been doing this since he first started running for president. It was how he made sure he was taking time to catch up with them despite his busy schedule. 

Kevin took a bite of his veggie-lovers, cauliflower crust pizza. “Ummm. Good thing. Oh! Jeremy Knox responded to my tweet about police violence. We’re totally on our way to becoming friends.” 

“Don’t you mean lovers?” Neil said. Wymack snorted, and Kevin looked betrayed. 

“Anyway. One bad thing would be that I still haven’t had a full in-person conversation with Jeremy Knox without sounding like an absolute idiot.”

“Don’t worry, Kevin. He’ll learn to love you despite your faults.” 

“Fuck off.”

“Language,” Abby said again. “Neil, how about you?”

“Good thing. I sent my professor an email so vicious that I ended up convincing him that the last question on our test was misleading. He agreed that my answer was one hundred percent correct. Bad thing. I read a buzzfeed article that argued Riko Moriyama is hotter than me. Can you believe there are people stupid enough to believe that?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. 

Abby went next, and spent a full minute complaining about how no grocery stores nearby carry her favorite oat milk brand. 

Wymack talks about his presidential duties, like usual. 

Neil looks around at his family, laughing and eating pizza. Sometimes he forgets how lucky he is. He doesn’t like to think about what his life would’ve been without Wymack and Abby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes hello I have no excuse for being gone so long lmao. I literally have nothing to do right now in quarantine, so I'm hoping to finish this. look out for another update soon ;)


End file.
